


Heatwaves and Headaches

by Kaijuscientists



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, its hot and sunny and crowley gets a headache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaijuscientists/pseuds/Kaijuscientists
Summary: There's a heatwave in London, and it doesn't agree with Crowley's one bit.  Aziraphale is there to help.





	Heatwaves and Headaches

London, and its inhabitants, are not equipped to deal with the heatwave that was currently sitting heavy over the city. As such, there was almost no one outside, all deciding it was easier to stay cool indoors, out of the sun, and with as many fans as possible. 

All except one angel and one demon, strolling through St. James park. 

“Angel, it’s way too bloody hot.” Crowley complains, swearing he could feel the temperature rising. “How can you possibly be wearing long sleeves?” 

Just looking at Aziraphale, who was still wearing his button down, sleeves not even rolled up, made his own temperature rise. The light t-shirt he was wearing was almost too much, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin. 

“I’m quite comfortable, actually.” Aziraphale says, way to chipper given the weather, and somehow entirely unaffected by the heat. “Can’t you just, oh I don’t know, imagine yourself cooler?”

“Now there’s an idea.” he mutters to himself, not that it was impossible for him to do just that, but he already felt stretched thin from the heat, and didn’t want to even try even a small miracle at the moment. 

Crowley, having many qualities of a snake, normally loved when it was warm. But even a snake could overheat, and a human body running on his quasi cold-blooded software, was not accustomed to this unseasonal heatwave. There were limits and his corporation was swiftly reaching them.

“Why are we even out in this heat again?” Crowley asks, squinting even with his shades. A throb in his temples signaled the beginning of a headache. An unfortunate by product of the heat, being made worse by the sun, where it hung high in the sky completely unfiltered by clouds. The rays cut through even the dark lenses of his glasses, hurting his eyes. 

“I wanted an ice cream.” Aziraphales says brightly. “Look, he’s just up ahead.” 

“Right,” Crowley says, cursing that he was never able to deny his angel anything. He just wanted to get out of the sun, before the pressure building in his head turned into something else. “Let’s hurry then.”

What should have been quick trip ends up taking an extra 20 minutes, mostly due to the fact that every child in the area also wanted ice cream at that exact moment. And Aziraphale wouldn’t get his until he saw to it that every child had a treat. 

The sounds of happy children or normally music to Crowley’s ears, but today, its grating. Grumbling, Crowley is finally able to buy Aziraphale his ice cream, the angel happily accepting his frozen treat. He gets himself an ice lolly, hoping the cold might give some kind of relief. But after a few licks his stomach starts to turn, he holds onto it for a while longer before giving up and passing it off to Aziraphale. 

By the time they leave the park Crowley’s head is properly pounding, keeping time with his corporations heartbeat. He thinks he has enough time to walk Aziraphale home and stumble back to his flat before things get too bad. 

If he tries to ditch right now, Aziraphale will know something’s and he will end up with a concerned angel fussing over him the rest of the day. And, deep down he thinks, it might not be the worst thing, but old habits die hard. Slinking away to hide alone is what he’s used to. He just needs to get himself to his flat, then he can sleep off the headache for the rest of the week, until the heat passes. 

Halfway to the bookshop the vertigo hits him like a truck and it’s a struggle to stay upright. Crowley knows he’s in for a doozy of a migraine. 

It takes all his concentration to keep putting one foot in front of the other and not fall on his face. He can hear Aziraphale going on about something but simply can not spare the mental capabilities to listen. 

Crowley blindly follows Aziraphale into the shop, stumbling over the step when his vision swims and he’s seeing double. He feels himself tipping in slow motion, falling heavily into the wall. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale says, turning to see Crowley, pale and slumped against the wall. He does not hesitate to grab him by the elbow to keep him from falling over. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“Migraine.“ Crowley winces, pressing his hand to his temple. He still feels overheated, even in the cool atmosphere of the shop. But it was dim and that is a small blessing. “Need to lie down.”

“Couch or bed?” Aziraphale huddles Crowley fully into the book shop. 

“I can walk, ‘Ziraphale.” Crowley grumbles, shrugging off the angels helping hands, ignoring his hurt expression. He couldn’t deal with that at the moment. 

“Sorry, um, i’ll be right back.” Aziraphale says, leaving Crowley to sway in the foyer of the book shop.

Intent in lying down as soon as possible, Crowley shuffles towards the stairs, succeeding on getting one hand on the railing and leaning heavily against it. Just one look up the stairs, however, and Crowley starts to think that the floor might be better than the bed.

Aziraphale comes back to see Crowley hanging on to the bannister. Really, he should have known better than to leave him alone when he can clearly see that he’s struggling, whether or not he wanted to accept his help or not.

“Let me help you up, dear.” Aziraphale says softly, hands hovering around Crowley, but not touching, waiting for his consent. When the demon finally nods, he wraps an arm around his waist. Crowley gratefully leans on Aziraphale, letting him support most of his weight. 

It takes a little doing, Crowley’s limbs not quite cooperating with him, but they manage to get upstairs into Aziraphale’s little flat. He deposits Crowley on the bed, the one Crowley insisted he keep for when he wanted to stay. He topples over as soon as he’s set down, the sheets blessedly cool against his overheated skin. 

Aziraphale reaches over and gently pulls Crowley sunglasses off, they can’t be comfortable squished against his face like that. Crowley instantly hisses in pain, shutting his eyes tightly, pressing his face into the mattress.

“Sorry dear,” Aziraphale says apologetically, keeping his voice at a low whisper. There’s a snap and suddenly there are thick curtains covering the window and Crowley visibly relaxes. ”I should have warned you.”

“S’fine” Crowley snaps his own fingers, trying to miracle his own clothing into something more comfortable. He only succeeds in hurting himself, a whimper escaping him when the effort doubles the pounding in his head. He knows better than to try any miracle when he’s like this, but sometimes he forgets himself. It’s easy to do when it feels like a railroad spike is being driven into his brain. 

“What do you need, dear?” Aziraphale asks softly, unsure of what Crowley might usually do for relief.

“Sleep” He rasps out, his own voice grating on his ear drums. He was so grateful Aziraphale was speaking so softly. He was truly an angel. Crowley cracks an eye open, confirmed his suspicion that Aziraphale had left the room. His eyes start to get a little misty, did his angel really leave him alone? He was a bit snappish earlier, but he was kind of hoping he might sit with him at the very least. 

Crowley jumps when the bed dips, cracking open his eyes to see Aziraphale holding a pile of clothes. 

“I’ve got some things for you to change into.” 

“Miracle?”

A miracle could easily help Crowley’s predicament. But a miracle would not allow him to indulge in a caretaking role with Crowley, which he so rarely had the opportunity to do. 

“Just, let me take care of you?” He whispers, gently helping Crowley sit up. “Just once.”

At that, Crowley softens, and allows the angel to undress him, trying to assist where he can with closed eyes. Aziraphale instructs him to lift his arms, and a soft shirt is slipped over his head, on of Aziraphale’s own undershirts. Crowley swims in the soft cotton, the fabric feels like a dream on his over sensitive skin.

Crowley surprisingly finds himself thankful Aziraphale didn’t miracle him into the pajamas. He would be missing out on the soft and gentle touches, soothing his frazzled nerves.

He lies back, sinking into soft pillows, one hand rubs little circles over his chest, the soft cotton under his fingers helping to ground him. He can smell Aziraphale too, all around him. The comforting smell of old books and cocoa. 

Aziraphale gently pulls off Crowley’s boots, then carefully undoes his belt to avoid any unnecessary metal clanks. Finally he’s able to wrestle the demon out of his much to tight jeans. 

That Crowley doesn’t make one fiendish comment about an angel undressing a demon in his bedroom really illustrates how poorly he must be feeling. 

“Thanksss, angel.” Crowley hisses as Aziraphale covers him with a soft sheet 

Aziraphale sits on the edge of the bed, observing Crowley. He had one arm thrown over his eyes, a vain attempt to block out the remaining ambient light, his other hand still absently rubbing circles on his own chest, his brow still furrowed in pain.

Aziraphale allows himself one small miracle, a cold compress appearing in his hand. He ever so gently pulls Crowley’s arm from his eyes, laying the cloth over them. The demon sighs in relief. 

“Rest well, my dear.”


End file.
